THE  LAMP  OF  GOLD 


UC-NRLF 


FLORENCE  L.  SNOV 


LIBRARY 

OF  THE 

UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA. 


Received 

Accession  No.  /K  ^  b  °y    .    Class  No. 


One  hundred  copies  printed  on  Japan  paper, 
numbered  and  signed. 

Five  hundred  numbered  copies  printed  on 
Marais  hand-made  paper. 

No. 


THE  LAMP  OF  GOLD 


THE  LAMP  OF  GOLD 


BY  CHICAGO 

FLORENCE  L   J|   WAY  AND 
SNOW  WILLIAMS 


OO    D  CCC  XCVI 


Copyright,  1896,  by  Way  &  Williams. 


PRINTED   AT   THE   DE   VINNE   PRESS. 
TITLE-PAGE   DESIGNED   BY   EDMUND   H.   GARRETT. 


'I  fancy  you  are  mistaken,"  said  Hilda, 
smiling.  "There  was  a  meaning  and  a 
purpose  in  each  of  its  seven  branches,  and 
such  a  candlestick  cannot  be  lost  forever." 

The  Marble  Faun. 


ov  T-B-P. 
•VERS 

GALIFO" 


CONTENTS 

The  Sacred  Fire 11 

Daybreak 27 

Mid-morning 43 

Noon 59 

Western  Windows 75 

Eventide 91 

The  Perfect  Light      .     .  107 


,\BF 

OF 

7.LR 


THE  SACRED  FIRE 


I 

A  poet  heard,  one  happy  summer  day, 
A  tender  maiden  speaking  low  and  sweet, 
And,  caring  only  that  he  might  obey, 
Plunged  deep  into  the  waters  at  her  feet, 
Where,  in  the  slime  of  ages  long  since  dead, 
He  found  a  lamp  of  tawny,  twisted  gold, 
And,  bearing  it  aloft  above  his  head, 
He  pleaded  that  its  story  should  be  told. 
But  lo !  she  only  turned  her  radiant  eyes 
Upon  the  distance  where  the  Holy  Land 
Rested  at  peace  beneath  the  peaceful  skies, 
Nor  touched  the  treasure  in  his  eager  hand,  — 
Then  breathed  upon  him,  "  Who  enthralls  the  night, 
Of  his  own  spirit  must  control  the  light." 


13 


II 

If  it  were  but  a  dream  he  never  knew 
When  afterwards  he  lived  the  time  again  ; 
But  from  that  hour  his  highest  purpose  grew 
To  finer  feeling  for  the  needs  of  men. 
The  virgin  metal  beaten  from  the  soul 
Of  God's  own  workman  lifted  out  and  up 
On  each  good  branch  its  consecrated  bowl,— 
And  his  the  task  to  fill  each  wondrous  cup. 
For  he  had  wandered  through  the  wilderness, 
And  through  the  desert  had  been  curtained  in  ; 
In  many  a  temple  he  had  knelt  to  bless 
The  boundless  love  that  triumphs  over  sin ; 
Nor  would  he  ever  spare  the  purest  oil 
That  he  had  pressed  from  out  the  heart  of  toil. 


15 


He  read  once  more,  as  on  the  sacred  page, 
The  mystic  meaning  of  the  deathless  fire 
That  blent  into  the  Ghristly  heritage 
In  full  fruition  of  the  world's  desire  ; 
And  slowly  tracing  through  the  eastern  lands 
The  flame  that  burnt  with  such  transcendent  power, 
The  faith  that  blossomed  for  its  deep  demands 
Burgeoned  again  into  more  perfect  flower. 
And  every  flower  in  turn,  transformed  to  flame, 
Illumined  every  heaven-lifted  dome 
That,  bravely  built  upon  the  mighty  Name, 
Upheld  the  glory  of  eternal  Rome,— 
Then  fixed  a  path  upon  the  circling  seas, 
Forever  leading  unto  wider  ministries. 


17 


IV 

The  life  that  holdeth  love  a  thing  apart 
From  any  slightest  labor  must  disclose 
The  utter  weakness  of  the  rarest  art 
Its  dearest  aspiration  ever  knows. 
Who  does  not  give  in  constant  sacrifice 
The  buoyant  blood  that  courses  through  his  veins 
Has  less  than  naught  for  all  his  best  emprise 
In  righteous  ruling  of  his  utmost  pains. 
For  without  love  no  worthy  work  may  be, 
And  without  death  creative  power  were  done ; 
Herein  there  lies  all  happy  victory, 
And  here  all  growth  and  gladness  are  begun. 
Cast  in  a  mould  beyond  a  fleck  or  flaw, 
'T  is  only  love  that  can  fulfill  the  law. 


19 


If    T"i  M  TV  f-  P  S  IT V   )) 
fc    / 
V^C^^lPOgg^ 

V 

And  even  as  the  majesty  of  day 
Gives  to  the  world  a  part  of  every  hue 
The  sun  has  braided  in  each  royal  ray, 
So  love  to  many  a  chord  must  e'er  be  true. 
Surely  it  sifts  its  life  and  loveliness 
From  every  turn  and  tint  of  circumstance 
Nor  leaves  the  purity  it  would  express 
To  any  shadow  of  untoward  chance ; 
But  never  wearied  in  its  patient  quest, 
It  searches  out  its  own  high  destiny, 
And  by  the  truth  made  wholly  manifest, 
It  gains  the  touch  of  perfect  liberty. 
What  seeming  good  shall  ever  be  denied, 
The  freedom  of  the  spirit  must  abide. 


21 


VI 

What  endless  lines  of  beauty  curve  about 
The  central  force  that  doth  all  things  create ! 
What  splendid  color,  woven  in  and  out, 
Imbues  the  wonder  of  the  earth's  estate  ! 
And,  ever  widening  to  the  reverent  hand, 
What  deep  dominion  lies  in  human  skill 
Exalted,  step  by  step,  to  understand 
Some  little  measure  of  the  sovereign  will ! 
From  round  to  round  the  sweet,  triumphant  breath 
Inspires  the  humblest  craft  and  highest  art ; 
The  greatest  word  a  mighty  poet  saith 
Finds  in  the  lowliest  life  a  certain  counterpart. 
So  be  that  it  is  good  when  it  be  done, 
All  work  is  beautiful,  all  beauty  one. 


VII 

And  thus  my  poet  mused,  his  ripening  thought 
Reaching  into  the  changing  harmony 
Whereby  the  changing  centuries  are  taught 
How  days  long  done  are  linked  with  days  to  he. 
The  Voice  that  throbbed  across  the  formless  deep, 
Setting  the  shining  spheres  in  ordered  space, 
Must  speak  forever  in  the  precious  sweep 
Where  wandering  souls  are  given  primal  place. 
And  with  the  burden  of  a  glad  new  song 
Upon  his  ready  lip  he  went  his  way, 
His  spirit  lifted  all  serene  and  strong 
Unto  the  splendor  of  a  vast  new  day. 
And  whoso  rightly  heareth  shall  behold 
The  light  that  burns  within  the  lamp  of  gold. 


25 


DAYBREAK 


I 

When  first  I  felt  the  wonder  drawing  near 
'T  was  when,  a  helpless  alien,  all  alone, 
I  bent  my  head  beneath  the  dark  and  fear 
That  pressed  upon  me  from  the  great  unknown. 
There  was  no  thought  of  any  light  to  be 
In  all  the  limits  of  the  brooding  night ; 
No  glimmer  in  the  dense  obscurity 
To  give  the  slightest  hope  of  surer  sight. 
Yet  even  as  the  motionless  profound 
Was  moved  to  meet  the  first  transcendent  day, 
My  soul  was  stirred  within  its  deadening  round, 
In  dim  desire  of  some  superior  sway, — 
And  then  the  word  spake  through  me  from  afar, 
And  stayed  the  shadows  with  a  silver  bar. 


II 

And,  slowly  wakened  to  the  broadening  line 

That  slowly  cleft  the  smothering  mist  in  twain, 

My  senses  came  a  little  to  define 

The  earth  and  sky  in  half-considered  gain ; 

Then,  with  the  flushing  heavens  bent  to  me, 

And  some  strong  certainty  beneath  my  feet, 

I  turned  my  face  full  on  the  mystery, — 

My  poet's  music  sweeter  and  more  sweet, — 

For,  once  aware,  in  my  great  impotence, 

Of  rhythm  and  of  courage,  all  my  heart 

Yearned  forth  beneath  the  mystic  Where  and  Whence, 

The  How  and  Why  that  measure  life  and  art, 

And  dreamed  of  curious  questions  one  by  one. 

Had  not  the  dreaming  dawn  for  once  begun  ? 


31 


'' 


III 

0  blessed  wonderings  of  the  blessed  time 
When  life  looks  out  upon  the  rose  and  gray 
That  hold  the  secret  of  a  perfect  prime 
Folded  within  the  promise  of  the  day  ! 
When  life  looks  out,  and  all  its  ignorance 
Is  like  all  knowledge  in  the  endless  space 
That  may  not  feel  the  wavering  touch  of  chance 
In  any  realm  of  its  unmeasured  grace. 
The  buoyant  breath  of  universal  air 
To  every  throbbing  thought  makes  due  reply  ; 
And  throbbing  thought,  in  its  unfretted  care, 
No  marvel  in  the  meaning  can  deny  ; 
And,  working  out  the  forces  of  new  birth, 
The  heights  and  depths  reveal  their  matchless  worth. 


33 


IV 

No  wonder  when  the  dayspring  from  on  high 
Descended  on  the  weary  sons  of  men 
The  angels  chanted  in  the  kindling  sky 
Such  joyous  chorus  over  and  again, 
Since  every  daybreak,  in  some  certain  sense, 
The  splendor  of  that  morning  should  unfold 
In  tender  glimpses  of  omnipotence 
Beyond  the  filmy  veil  of  gray  and  gold  ; 
And  every  spirit  that  should  come  to  see 
Its  own  great  gift  of  gladness  in  the  light 
Should  join  the  deep,  encircling  harmony 
In  freedom  from  the  subtle  bonds  of  night, 
And  dark  and  dawn,  forever  reconciled, 
Should  mirror  forth  the  glory  of  the  Child. 


'T  was  well  for  me  that  on  that  precious  morn 
When  heaven  and  my  poet  found  me  out, 
And  to  myself  my  nobler  self  was  born 
Beyond  the  power  of  questioning  or  doubt, 
I  was  a  child  in  body  as  in  heart, 
With  radiant  reaches  of  my  time  to  grow, 
And,  stretching  up,  absorbed  my  little  part 
Of  all  my  little  world  rejoiced  to  show. 
And  yet  I  knew  not  anything  was  small, 
For,  looking  through  so  sweet  an  atmosphere, 
The  widest  portals  opened  at  my  call, 
And  mighty  mysteries  came  close  and  clear, 
And  all  the  royal  heralds  of  the  sun 
Brought  me  their  boundless  treasures  one  by  one, 


VI 

The  after  years  hold  nothing  half  so  sweet 
As  this  first  conscious  turning  toward  the  hills, 
And  first  discoveries  so  fair  and  fleet 
Among  the  shining  fields  of  daffodils ; 
No  after  song-search  may  at  all  compare, 
However  fortunate  the  soul  may  be, 
With  this  first  sense  that  all  the  ambient  air 
Is  filled  with  song  but  waiting  to  break  free ; — 
When  budding  life  breathes  in  on  every  hand, 
The  life  and  love  of  stone  and  stream  and  flower, 
And  grows,  not  knowing  how  to  understand, 
Into  some  likeness  of  creative  power,  — 
Careless  of  words,  but  reaching  for  the  tone 
Made  through  the  ages  for  its  very  own. 


VII 

In  such  delight  and  fertile  eagerness, 
My  sovereign  singer,  I  reached  forth  at  length 
Thy  miracle  within  me  to  express, 
In  timid  test  of  all  my  utmost  strength  ; 
But  all  my  efforts  only  could  repeat 
The  magic  measures  I  had  learned  of  thee,  — 
Gould  only  take  thy  rhythm  to  complete 
My  broken  thread  of  groping  melody. 
Yet,  breathing  over  each  beloved  line, 
And  shaping  every  note  in  reverent  rote, 
I  came,  in  sudden  greatness,  to  define 
The  power  and  purpose  of  thy  leading  note ; 
And  then  my  heart  leapt  out  free  as  a  bird  — 
I  too  should  sing, — and,  singing,  should  be  heard ! 


41 


MID-MORNING 


I 

He  values  freedom  most  who  once  hath  been 
Deprived  of  his  accustomed  liberty  ; 
And  when  my  stupid  teachers  shut  me  in, 
The  outer  world  was  everything  to  me. 
To  follow  round  the  wearisome  routine 
Of  tedious  lessons  that  were  never  done 
Inspired  the  morning  with  a  dazzling  sheen 
It  only  knew  when  lessons  were  begun  ; 
The  sunny  sweetness  of  the  beaten  way 
By  which  I  reached  betimes  my  prison  door 
Was  ne'er  so  sweet  as  when  its  bright  array 
Thro'  troubled  texts  shone  brighter  than  before, 
And  painted  over  every  tiresome  task 
The  rarest  pictures  human  heart  could  ask. 


II 

How  good  it  was  beneath  the  mounting  morn 
To  loiter  past  the  hazel  thicket  where 
The  baby  nuts  in  such  green  growth  were  born 
And  hid  away  with  such  especial  care  ! 
And  then  to  lean  against  the  ancient  elm 
That  always  watched  my  journeys  to  and  fro, 
And,  looking  upward,  find  the  fairy  realm 
That  only  birds  and  children  ever  know ! 
Or,  stretched  full  length  upon  the  mossy  ground, 
Where  fringing  fern  so  tenderly  uncurled, 
How  dear  it  was  to  catch  the  elfin  sound 
That  sometimes  echoes  from  the  under-world, 
And  learn  the  secrets  of  the  quiet  nook 
So  fondly  cherished  by  the  faithful  brook  ! 


OF   THB 

VEtlSJ 


Ill 

Oh,  sweeter  far  than  flute  or  flageolet 
That  ever  caught  the  breath  of  Arcady, 
The  silver  stream  at  every  turn  was  set 
To  some  new  phase  of  liquid  harmony ; 
And  when  I  crossed  the  shining  stepping-stones, 
The  magic  music,  slipping  slowly  past, 
Wove  such  a  web  of  soft,  enchanting  tones 
It  could  not  fail  to  hold  me  safe  and  fast ; 
Nor  could  I  fail  to  give  back  song  for  song 
In  murmurous  croonings  'neath  the  happy  spell, 
Forgetting  that  I  still  must  fare  along 
Until  I  heard  the  master's  brazen  bell. 
What  poor  exchange  for  wood  and  stream  and  sky, 
The  utmost  skill  that  he  might  hope  to  try  ! 


IV 

How  great  a  puzzle  that  the  lettered  lines 
Upon  one  page  make  only  puzzles  clear, 
While  through  another  all  the  sunlight  shines, 
And  marshaled  ranks  of  poetry  appear. 
But  whoso  follows,  though  with  lagging  feet, 
The  mighty  music  of  the  mighty  host 
In  every  problem  finds  a  rhythmic  beat, 
And  hardly  knows  which  reading  means  the  most. 
And  so  I  came,  because  my  poet  willed, 
To  see  how  God's  two  worlds  together  grow — 
The  springing  fountain  must  be  wholly  filled 
Before  the  grateful  waters  overflow ; 
The  poorest  master  then  had  learned  to  teach 
Some  bit  of  beauty  that  I  longed  to  reach. 


61 


UNIVERSITY 


From  book  to  book,  like  some  quick  honey-bee 
That  flits  all  day  from  flower  to  fresher  flower, 
I  dipped  into  each  wondrous  treasury, 
And  gathered  sweetness  with  unwearied  power. 
The  wildest  weed  and  fairest  garden-rose 
Gave  forth  the  bounty  of  the  summer  sun  ; 
Impassioned  rhyme  and  cultivated  prose  — 
All  sorts  of  blossoming  —  to  me  were  one. 
And  so  I  built  from  cell  to  golden  cell, 
Scarce  conscious  of  the  swarming  human  hive 
Where  countless  other  creatures  stored  as  well 
The  same  delight  in  everything  alive. 
Is  not  the  nectar  of  the  dear  unknown 
Most  deeply  generous  when  sipped  alone  ? 


VI 

To  feel  the  joy  of  effort  more  and  more, 
To  gleam  and  glow  with  iridescent  thought, 
In  very  gladness  opens  wide  the  door 
Upon  the  selfish  hoard  so  sweetly  sought. 
But  none  may  enter  in  who  does  not  share 
His  own  attainments  to  the  last  degree, — 
Such  interchange  hath  everything  to  spare 
And  everything  to  keep  most  sacredly. 
And  when  I  found  a  bright  prophetic  face 
Impressed  with  all  I  meant  some  time  to  know, 
I  could  not  hide  the  slightest  gift  or  grace 
That  in  my  solitude  had  charmed  me  so, — 

No  matter  what  ambition  may  bestir, 

Love  is  the  only  true  interpreter. 


55 


VII 

Together  —  0  the  dear,  delicious  word  — 
We  pressed  upon  the  smiling  universe, 
Uniting  all  that  we  had  seen  and  heard 
Like  golden  coin  within  a  common  purse; 
Together  cast  a  splendid  horoscope, 
Each  for  the  other  in  our  eager  pride, 
Nor  ever  dreamed  the  most  ethereal  hope 
Too  frail  or  fair  to  be  a  proper  guide. 
And  so  each  forward  step  in  our  emprise 
Brought  such  increasing  wonder  and  acclaim, 
We  knew  that  we  might  lift  our  favored  eyes 
To  any  height  that  we  should  chance  to  name, 
And  every  marvel  of  the  precious  time 
I  fashioned  over  into  precious  rhyme. 


57 


NOON 


I 

As  when  a  happy  mocking-bird  essays 
To  imitate  amid  the  forest  choir 
The  rarest  and  most  varied  roundelays 
In  very  overflow  of  glad  desire, 
My  joyous  verse  attempted  many  a  strain 
In  likeness  of  the  world's  great  minstrelsy, 
Nor  counted  any  cost  that  might  attain 
The  skill  that  lies  in  such  dear  mimicry. 
But  while  the  bird,  despite  its  borrowing, 
Perfects  the  beauty  of  its  own  sweet  song, 
'T  was  such  device  that  taught  me  how  to  sing, 
And  how  to  listen  to  the  gifted  throng,— 
And  though  I  tried  so  much  without  avail, 
I  felt  the  force  that  cannot  wholly  fail. 


61 


II 

How  can  I  ever  pay  the  debt  I  owe 
To  that  high  company  whose  royal  line 
Upgathers  every  thought  that  life  can  know 
In  harmony  so  deep  and  so  divine? 
How  shall  I  prove  me  worthy  of  the  love 
That  lifted  me  into  the  radiant  sphere, 
And  placed  within  my  hands  the  keys  thereof 
As  one  ordained  for  vision  free  and  clear? 
0  love,  my  Love,  and  love  of  poetry, 
Although  thy  largess  hath  no  measurement, 
There  is  no  debt  that  can  be  due  to  thee 
Save  poetry  and  love  in  full  content ; 
But  no  one  can  fulfill  his  dearest  vow 
Without  the  double  seal  upon  his  brow. 

63 


Ill 

The  poet's  question  and  its  sure  reply 
In  the  beginning  gave  my  quickened  touch 
The  strength  my  Love  was  quickest  to  descry, 
Rejoicing  that  it  promised  me  so  much. 
And  wrapped  so  close  in  love  I  could  not  guess 
Between  the  two  great  masters  of  my  heart, 
That  either  was  the  greater  or  the  less, 
Until  the  world  began  to  praise  my  art. 
Then  I  was  certain  that  my  verse  should  take 
The  noblest  that  was  in  me  hour  by  hour, 
And  even  love,  for  its  surpassing  sake, 
Should  sacrifice  all  claim  upon  my  power, — 
Could  any  consecration  e'er  abide 
That  did  not  thrust  the  inmost  self  aside  ? 


65 


IV 

Who  has  not  journeyed  in  the  pride  of  youth 
Amid  the  perils  of  a  mountain  track, 
Where  but  a  step,  regardless  of  the  truth, 
Would  quench  all  hope  in  some  abysmal  wrack? 
And  thus  I  traveled  on  my  chosen  height 
Along  the  dreadful  verge  of  self-deceit, 
Veiled  in  vain-glory  from  the  gracious  light 
That  God  had  sent  to  guide  my  wayward  feet. 
And,  hastening  on,  my  danger  unconfessed, 
I  trembled  o'er  the  chasm  of  despair, 
Until  love  drew  me  back  upon  its  breast, 
And  gave  me  new  belief  and  courage  there. 
And  loving  my  dear  Love  so  much  the  more, 
I  loved  my  art  still  better  than  before. 


67 


This  love  of  ours  was  no  exotic  bloom, 
Though  all  so  rare  in  every  tint  and  vein ; 
No  gorgeous  growth  freighted  with  dense  perfume, 
Perfected  through  imprisoned  heat  and  rain  ; 
It  was  the  flowering  of  the  out-door  air, 
The  common  soil,  and  cool,  caressing  dew,— 
The  simple  bounty  of  the  heavenly  care, 
And  fraught  with  heavenly  odors  through  and  through 
Its  rootlets  struck  so  deep  into  the  mold, 
That  every  finest  fiber  found  the  heart 
Wherein  the  hidden  springs  of  life  unfold, 
And  burgeon  out  in  endless  counterpart ; 
And,  facing  up  before  the  searching  sun, 
It  touched  its  high  commissions  one  by  one. 


VI 

To  give  again  all  that  it  ever  knows 
Through  earth  and  sky  in  calyx-cup  and  seed, — 
The  purpose  of  the  humblest  flower  that  grows 
Must  be  the  spirit  of  the  highest  creed ; 
And  our  great  love  in  no  wise  could  forget 
How  wide  a  service  in  our  boundary 
Demanded  that  its  marvels  should  be  met 
For  every  gift  with  utmost  ministry. 
Art  could  be  great  only  as  love  revealed 
The  truth  triumphant  and  the  sacred  way, 
And  most  exalted  love  were  half-concealed 
Only  as  art  should  perfectly  obey. 
With  such  a  message  always  to  repeat 
What  inflorescence  were  so  passing  sweet? 


71 


VII 

As  one  who  is  anointed  from  on  high 
For  every  holy  issue  made  for  men, 
For  love  and  labor  in  untold  supply, 
I  set  me  to  my  singing  once  again. 
The  wondrous  work  had  fully  chosen  me 
Beyond  all  question  or  remotest  doubt, 
And  I  could  only  fashion  fearlessly 
What  life  and  love  together  pointed  out. 
So,  like  the  Sibyl  at  her  wave-washed  door, 
Who  cast  her  countless  leaves  upon  the  wind, 
Freely  I  flung  abroad  my  gathering  store 
For  any  needful  traveler  to  find,  — 
When  all  the  mid-day  burns  so  crystal-pure 
The  slightest  utterance  is  strong  and  sure. 


73 


WESTERN  WINDOWS 


I 

The  gladdest  singer  voices  many  a  strain, 
Beneath  the  anguish  sobbing  through  the  world, 
That  feels  the  impress  of  the  sacred  gain 
Within  the  heart  of  grief  so  purely  pearled. 
He  cannot  rightly  gauge  the  major  chords 
That  measure  out  his  own  great  happiness, 
Without  the  minor  meaning  that  affords 
The  fullest  force  to  all  he  would  express. 
But  though  he  touches  every  precioqs  note 
His  art  demands  for  perfect  harmony, 
The  sweetest  song  that  pulses  from  his  throat 
Only  defines  the  singer's  sympathy, — 
He  may  not  reach  the  poet's  highest  grace 
Till  he  has  stood  with  Sorrow  face  to  face. 


77 


II 

I  told  myself  the  truth,  divining  how 
The  life  about  me  found  its  finest  tone 
Within  the  beauty  of  the  holy  vow 
The  spirit  makes  through  suffering  alone. 
To  sing  my  joy  were  service  far  too  small, 
When  grief  demanded  comfort  everywhere, — 
What  could  avail  unless  I  too  should  fall 
Into  the  deeps  and  learn  to  triumph  there? 
I  thought  my  strength  sufficient  to  endure 
The  keenest  trial  known  to  human  heart, 
Nor  felt  my  calling  could  be  really  sure 
Till  pain  had  purged  the  dross  from  out  my  art, 
But  when  the  moment  of  my  trial  came 
Only  the  common  weakness  met  the  flame. 


79 


HI 

How  could  I  know  the  swift-descending  fire 
Would  kindle  all  about  the  golden  shrine 
Where  I  had  heaped  the  fruits  of  glad  desire 
Withholding  nothing  in  my  rare  design? 
How  could  I  see,  so  suddenly  bereft, 
The  hand  of  mercy  in  the  cruel  loss, 
Or  feel  that  any  slightest  hope  were  left 
Beneath  the  burden  of  so  great  a  cross  ? 
And  so,  forgetting  Christ  had  gone  before 
Along  the  crowded  way  to  Calvary, 
My  stricken  soul  but  questioned  more  and  more 
How  it  could  live  through  such  deep  agony,  — 
How  should  the  mother-heart  be  comforted, 
If  all  its  highest  quickening  were  dead  ? 


IV 

0  dear  Strong-Heart,  how  had  I  ever  kept 
The  feeblest  faith  but  for  thy  steadfast  hold 
Upon  the  surety  I  had  most  bewept 

As  thrusting  me  away  from  its  fair  fold  ? 

1  had  not  come  in  my  distress  to  prove 

The  precious  power  I  could  not  hope  to  reach, 
When  through  the  glass  of  our  transcendent  love 
I  sought  so  much  of  heavenly  grace  to  teach. 
I  had  but  touched  upon  the  boundless  sphere 
Of  God's  compassion,  measured  from  our  own, 
Nor  felt  my  straitened  spirit  draw  so  near 
The  sacred  source  of  all  that  we  had  known  ; 
Oh,  but  for  thee,  this  righteous  chastening 
Had  well  destroyed  the  least  desire  to  sing ! 


The  fiercest  storm  that  sweeps  across  the  land, 
Blotting  the  glory  from  the  summer  skies, 
Unfolds  new  leaves  of  love  on  every  hand 
All  richly  charactered  for  chosen  eyes. 
And  when  the  conquering  sun  shines  forth  again, 
As  if  he  were  rejoicing  through  and  through, 
The  endless  service  of  the  wind  and  rain 
From  breadth  to  breadth  expands  before  the  view ; 
Then  heaven  and  earth  unitedly  reveal 
Such  wondrous  depths  of  God's  encircling  care 
That  all  the  depths  beyond  can  scarce  conceal 
The  fuller  revelation  other-where ; 
No  longer  holden,  I  had  come  to  see 
What  all  the  strain  and  stress  had  done  for  me. 


VI 

I  looked  abroad  into  the  broadening  west 
As  I  had  looked  into  the  growing  morn, 
Eager  to  make  the  promise  manifest 
Enfolded  in  the  beauty  yet  unborn. 
Yet  with  the  wonder  of  the  early  day 
I  had  the  touch  of  every  passing  hour, 
And  every  messenger  that  came  my  way 
Had  given  me  some  portion  of  his  dower. 
Both  good  and  ill,  but  always  inmost  good, 
Had  shaped  me  ready  for  my  grave  new  birth, 
And  in  my  grave  new  joy  I  understood 
What  worlds  of  rhythm  bind  us  to  the  earth, — 
The  lark  that  soars  upon  the  highest  round, 
Still  keeps  its  nesting-place  upon  the  ground. 


87 


VII 

The  heavenly  chrism  fresh  upon  my  head, 
And  every  power  renewed  in  quickened  trust, 
I  could  but  follow  where  the  spirit  led, 
And  simply  sing  whatever  song  I  must. 
I  could  but  share,  as  in  the  mid-day  glow, 
The  dearest  forces  throbbing  to  my  hand  ; 
But  I  had  come  by  so  much  more  to  know 
The  wider  issues  waiting  my  demand, — 
By  so  much  more,  that  every  thread  of  thought 
My  larger  purpose  loyally  defined, 
In  all  the  shining  reaches  that  I  sought 
Held  me  the  nearer  to  all  human  kind ; 
And  more  and  more  the  words  I  found  to  speed 
Were  drawn  from  out  the  depths  of  human  need. 


EVENTIDE 


I 

Why  should  it  be  when  one  has  barely  come 
To  find  the  forces  that  he  may  command, 
That  his  dear  day  completes  its  largest  sum 
Within  the  darkness  creeping  o'er  the  land  ? 
Why  should  the  warning  come  so  soon,  so  soon, 
That  all  his  bravest  work  must  change  and  pass, 
And  but  the  margin  of  the  afternoon 
May  be  reflected  from  his  finest  glass  ? 
The  spirit  falters  'neath  the  sinking  sun, 
But  whoso  reads  himself  and  God  aright 
Must  know  that  even  when  the  day  is  done 
He  still  may  grasp  new  measures  of  delight,— 
That  all  his  strength  may  haply  be  more  strong 
As  moved  upon  by  some  great  even-song. 


II 

How  sweet  the  shadows  are  that  softly  close 
Upon  the  shifting  boundaries  of  the  world 
Against  the  gonfalons  of  gold  and  rose 
Through  all  the  sky  so  wondrously  unfurled ! 
How  fair  and  free  the  countless  banners  float, 
Borne  onward  in  their  royal  pageantry, 
Till  every  hill  and  plain,  howe'er  remote, 
Thrills  back  the  sense  of  some  new  harmony ! 
And  when  the  glory  fades  amid  the  hush 
That  deepens  downward  with  the  deepening  mist, 
The  dreams  of  men  take  on  the  morning  flush 
That  shimmers  through  the  evening  amethyst. 

Only  the  blessed  child  may  enter  in 

The  kingdoms  where  the  heavenly  powers  begin, 


Ill 

"What  matter  if  the  earth  grow  less  and  less," 
My  heart  repeated  in  a  glad  refrain, 
' '  When  such  a  revelation  can  express 
The  fulness  of  such  far  exceeding  gain?" 
All  I  had  ever  known  or  felt  before 
Of  truth  or  fealty  or  transcendent  toil, 
Appeared  to  me  a  new-created  store 
Upspringing  from  a  new-created  soil ; 
Yet  all  I  was  and  all  I  yet  might  be 
Was  holden  by  the  world's  unbroken  claim, 
I  could  not  draw  the  breath  of  liberty 
Save  in  the  service  it  should  chance  to  frame, — 
With  every  fiber  of  the  soul's  increase 
Some  new  demand  requires  the  touch  of  peace. 


97 


IV 

I  felt  myself  encompassed  by  a  cloud 
Of  shining  witnesses  for  love  and  truth, 
In  life-long  mysteries  that  breathed  aloud 
The  blessed  surety  of  eternal  youth. 
The  tender  tones  that  tremble  o'er  the  line 
Where  silence  waits  upon  the  shores  of  sound 
Filled  all  my  thought  with  music  so  divine 
Utmost  desire  no  further  could  abound. 
And  with  my  sacred  joy  I  marveled  much 
That  any  human  heart  had  ever  heard 
The  dull  half-notes  that  my  imperfect  touch 
Had  ventured  forth  as  my  expressive  word, — 
So  small  my  labor  seemed,  so  large  the  sphere 
Where  heaven  and  earth  as  blent  in  one  appear. 


99 


0  loyal  Love,  whatever  may  betide 

The  simple  song  that  means  so  much  to  me, 

What  guerdon  may  be  given  or  denied, 

Still  every  chord  is  true  as  truth  to  thee ; 

It  still  responds  to  that  great  over-love 

Which  from  the  first  has  prompted  all  my  quest, 

And,  knowing  this,  how  should  we  care  to  prove 

By  praise  or  blame  what  may  be  worst  or  best? 

Yet  with  the  sweet  assurance  and  content 

That  good  work  brings  throughout  the  busy  day, 

1  could  but  feel  the  forces  still  unspent, 
And  press  more  earnestly  upon  my  way. 

But  with  the  very  most  my  love  could  do, 
To  thee,  0  Love,  it  still  were  only  true. 


101 


VI 

I  well  remember  once  when  we  had  read 
How  every  spoken  word  that  men  might  share 
Can  never  be  as  lost  or  void  or  dead, 
But  lives  forever  in  the  moving  air,  — 
How  long  we  questioned  if  the  careless  tones 
That  we  sent  forth  should  circle  round  again, 
And  if  we  should  escape  the  playful  moans 
We  mingled  with  the  speech  we  uttered  then. 
But  now  the  echoes  whispering  far  and  near 
Brought  back  so  much  of  my  poor  melody, 
Through  every  change  I  could  not  help  but  hear 
The  lingering  burden  of  its  varied  key, — 
And  then  I  knew  that  no  one  might  evade 
The  slightest  winged  note  he  had  betrayed. 


103 


VII 

Thanks  be  to  God  whose  all-sufficient  grace 
Inspires  the  faint  beginning  with  the  end  : 
His  mercy  does  not  ask  us  to  replace 
The  broken  chords  no  human  power  can  mend ; 
But  note  by  note  he  leads  us  surely  on, 
And  fashions  all  our  effort  to  the  plan 
Whereby  the  summits  of  eternal  dawn 
Are  lifted  over  every  bar  and  ban. 
And  so  I  sung  the  wider,  freer  hope 
That  stretched  away  before  my  raptured  sight,— 
Sung  all  I  fathomed  in  the  boundless  scope 
That  lay  beyond  the  borders  of  the  night; 
For  I  had  found,  with  naught  to  intervene, 
The  mighty  rhythm  of  the  vast  serene. 


105 


THE  PERFECT  LIGHT 


I 

As  day  to  day  proclaims  its  tender  speech, 
And  night  to  night  its  knowledge  doth  declare, 
The  gift  of  life  can  never  fail  to  reach 
The  kindred  life  created  otherwhere. 
The  living  word  speeds  onward  to  its  own, 
Nor  stops  for  any  guerdon  or  reply, 
Content  to  feel  in  every  slightest  tone 
The  beauty  and  delight  that  never  die. 
And  so  the  singer  who  restored  in  song 
The  sacred  symbol  of  the  heavenly  fire, 
And  those  who  come  its  marvels  to  prolong, 
Are  linked  forever  in  the  one  desire ; 
For  God  and  man  and  music  yet  to  be 
Have  wrought  upon  their  inmost  harmony. 


109 


II 

Who  seeks  the  source  of  song  must  look  to  Him 
In  whom  all  rhythm  and  response  are  made,  — 
From  drifting  dust  to  chanting  cherubim 
Who  sight  his  face  serene  and  unafraid ; 
The  One  who  was  before  the  worlds  could  swing 
In  their  completion  round  the  central  sun 
Inspired  the  touch  that  countless  eons  bring 
To  frame  the  inspiration  just  begun ; 
And  through  the  ages  every  quickening  strain 
That  echoes  through  the  rarest  works  of  men 
Has  found  the  self-same  glory  to  attain, 
Repeated  over  ever  and  again  : 
All  that  is  good  or  true  in  any  wise 
Only  through  Him  receives  its  radiant  guise. 


111 


Ill 

I  wonder  who  in  some  transcendent  time 
Shall  read  the  story  of  our  wondrous  race, 
And  measure  forth  the  full  prolific  rhyme 
That  waits  upon  the  truth  we  cannot  trace. 
We  only  glimpse  the  bright,  unbroken  thread 
That  reaches  from  the  first  resultant  power 
Through  all  the  forces  that  have  surely  led 
Into  the  largess  of  the  passing  hour ; 
But  when  the  sense  of  some  surpassing  seer 
Awakens  in  the  world's  supreme  advance, 
Then  all  the  splendid  purpose  shall  appear 
That  overrules  the  meanest  circumstance, 
And  men  shall  fathom  out  the  blessed  way 
That  treasures  up  its  gold  in  such  poor  clay. 


113 


IV 

Whatever  beauty  this  dear  life  may  see 
In  full  expression  of  divine  intent, 
From  first  to  last  its  matchless  poetry 
Reflects  the  Christ  in  every  element. 
What  precious  art  found  fruitage  in  the  earth 
Before  the  dayspring  touched  the  weary  sky, 
Its  ministry  was  guided  in  the  worth 
The  Son  of  God  illumined  from  on  high. 
And  since  he  drained  the  sacrificial  cup, 
Utmost  humanity  at  last  complete, 
Whatever  loveliness  is  lifted  up 
Bears  out  the  mission  of  the  Paraclete. 
The  comfort  and  the  joy  and  deep  acclaim 
Attest  the  spirit  of  the  cloven  flame. 


115 


V 

0  thou  Great  Love  wherein  all  other  love 
Must  find  the  secret  of  its  farthest  sphere, 
The  least  adventure  were  enough  to  prove 
The  need  of  love  too  great  for  any  fear. 
And  thy  majestic  work  in  shaping  out 
Such  royal  profit  for  the  heart  of  man 
Fulfills  the  freedom  that  is  borne  about 
The  endless  growth  of  his  appointed  plan. 
Thy  tender  touch  hath  set  no  metes  or  bounds 
Save  its  own  law  in  any  soul  or  sense,— 
No  limit  holds  the  promise  that  surrounds 
The  imagery  of  thy  omnipotence ; 
And  love  begetting  love,  it  shall  define 
From  step  to  step  its  uttermost  design. 


117 


VI 

Some  things  there  be  upon  this  sounding  shore 
Where  music  makes  such  endless  mysteries 
That  have  no  measure  in  our  deepest  lore 
For  any  phase  of  their  glad  harmonies. 
But  faith  and  feeling  through  the  sacred  tide 
Have  no  despair  or  danger  of  eclipse, 
Though  every  word  may  haply  be  denied 
That  might  affirm  the  great  apocalypse ; 
And  when  the  happy  hope  has  passed  the  bar 
That  holds  it  here  from  its  supernal  joy, 
No  melody  can  be  too  fine  or  far 
For  its  unfettered  forces  to  employ; 
The  vision  and  the  voice  shall  then  essay 
All  that  the  earthly  form  could  not  convey. 


119 


VII 

The  end  of  song  and  its  supreme  delight, 
The  end  of  life  and  its  remotest  art, 
Are  given  forth  when  life  and  song  unite 
In  keeping  with  the  heavenly  counterpart. 
When  human  love  completes  the  shining  round 
That  love's  divinity  has  breathed  upon, 
And  through  the  white  effulgence  God  is  found 
Blending  the  beauty  of  celestial  dawn  ; 
Then  life  and  love  together  shall  behold, 
As  born  anew  within  their  vast  estate, 
Their  larger  labor  fitted  to  the  mould 
That  most  exalted  effort  shall  create,  — 
And  more  and  more  the  singer  shall  abide 
Whom  love  and  life  have  wholly  satisfied. 


121 


OF  THW 

UNIVERSITY 


14  DAY  USE 

RETURN  TO  DESK  FROM  WHICH  BORROWED 
LOAN  DEPT. 

This  book  is  due  on  the  last  date  stamped  below,  or 

on  the  date  to  which  renewed. 
Renewed  books  are  subject  to  immediate  recall. 


JUN  1 5  1951 


LD  21A-50m-8,'57 
(C8481slO)476B 


General  Library 

University  of  California 

Berkeley 


VB   13597 

U.C.BERKELEY  LIBRARIES 


00145^531,53 


